


thick thighs make a dick rise

by reflektions



Category: It's Always Sunny in Philadelphia
Genre: Blow Jobs, Drag, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Panic Attacks, Praise Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-01
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-07-11 13:19:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7053343
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reflektions/pseuds/reflektions
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Dennis does drag for the first time and Mac’s dick has an existential crisis.</p>
            </blockquote>





	thick thighs make a dick rise

**Author's Note:**

> This fic exists because of 1) my seemingly never-ending knowledge of drag queens/culture, 2) my inability to watch anything that isn’t this godforsaken show, and 3) the fact that Thick Thighs by Willam Belli is a goddamn bop. I am not proud of myself.
> 
> Takes place in season 9 (sometime after Mac Day but before The Gang Squashes Their Beefs). Content warnings for canon-typical transphobia, internalized homophobia, and panic attacks.

In hindsight, Mac should’ve known that that time in Fatty Magoo’s office wouldn’t be the last time he would see Dennis in drag.

Mac wakes up one afternoon to the sound of upbeat pop music, some song he’s never heard before. Curious, he wanders out of his bedroom, stopping beside the couch to observe. On the TV is a bunch of dudes dressed like women, walking down a runway and offering commentary on their looks.

He squints. “What’s with the trannies?”

Dennis scoffs, glancing at Mac briefly. “They’re drag queens, douchebag.”

Mac snorts, rolling his eyes. “Like it matters, dude. Why the fuck are you watching this?” He walks over to the fridge and helps himself to a beer.

“You don’t see it?”

“…No?”

“Mac!” Dennis hits the mute button on the remote and throws it down on the couch. “ _I_ could do this, man!”

“ _You_ wanna be a drag queen.”

“Shit yeah I do!” Dennis is grinning and his eyes are sparkling, all the telltale signs of a new idea brewing up inside him.

Mac raises his eyebrows, muttering, “Whatever, dude,” before taking a seat on the couch. He wishes he could say that he has better things to do than watch Dennis get all worked up over a pipe dream, but that would be a bold-faced lie.

“Don’t you think this whole thing’s a little bit gay, man?” Mac asks him one night as Dennis pours out the contents of a Sephora bag onto the counter (oddly enough, an Elmer’s glue stick has made its way in there). Dennis already has – and regularly wears – a fair bit of makeup, but Mac figures one probably needs a little bit more than foundation and mascara to look like a woman.

“You don’t have to fuck dudes to be a drag queen,” Dennis says matter-of-factly, ripping a compact of blush out of its packaging, but Mac’s heart rate picks up speed at the thought of Dennis fucking another dude. (He does his best to ignore it.)

Mac shoots him a sidelong glance. “Okay, but like, do you…wanna _be_ a woman, or some shit? Cause–” Because, shit, if _that_ was the case, pretty much all of Mac’s problems would be solved. Dennis could become Denise, or whatever name he wanted to choose (although Mac really does think Denise would be the best option), and that would be the straightest thing _ever_ , and maybe finally–

“No, dumbass, I don’t want to _be_ a woman,” Dennis scowls. “I’m just going to be _performing_ as one. There’s a very clear difference.” He opens up his laptop and presses play on a YouTube makeup tutorial, in which a dude with bushy eyebrows and a really soft voice is explaining what products he (she?) is putting on his (her?) face.

Mac smirks, patting Dennis on the shoulder. “Well, buddy, you just let me know when you do end up performing, okay?” There’s no way this is going to pan out.

\--

It turns out that Dennis landed a gig down at The Rainbow with a fair amount of ease. Apparently, the host of the show had been to Paddy’s back when it was a gay bar for like, a week, and she (he? Mac still doesn’t know) is a big fan of Dennis’. Whatever the case, Mac promises he’ll be there to cheer Dennis on in the audience – which is more than the rest of the gang can say. Frank and Charlie already have an intense game of Night Crawlers planned, and Dee claims that she has an important “dinner date” with a “director” that she “can’t miss.”

Dennis insists that Mac arrive separately, something about not wanting him to “bear witness to her” just yet. He leaves the apartment in a hurry, still dressed in regular clothes and toting a backpack full of drag.

“Wait, what’s your name, dude?” Mac calls after him. He’s watched enough episodes of _Drag Queen Racing_ with Dennis to know that he can’t just go out there as Dennis Reynolds; he has to have some dramatic, feminine name to complete the “fantasy” (Dennis’ words, not his).

“No time!” Dennis shouts on his way out, slamming the door behind him.

And that’s how Mac ended up here at The Rainbow, seated by himself in a small half-circle of a booth off to the right of the stage. Make no mistake, Mac is one tough guy, but the lights are bright and flashy, alternating between colors every few seconds, and don’t even get him started on the music. He’d be lying if he said he’s not just a little bit anxious. 

Dennis hadn’t even given him the courtesy of letting him know when he’d be taking the stage, but Mac hopes that it’ll be soon, because the queen performing right now is a total embarrassment. From what Mac can understand, she’s attempting to lip-sync to a Britney Spears song (don’t ask him how he knows that). She’s wearing a garment that, quite honestly, resembles a bed sheet, and her mouth, vaguely moving around to the words, kind of looks like she’s trying to catch flies in it. And her dancing? Erratic and desperate. Mac can’t believe this clown is getting tips from swarming patrons, but he figures they have much more experience with this kind of thing than he does. All he really knows is that Dennis is gonna blow this chick out of the water.

He’s nursing his third rum and coke when two dudes holding hands walk up to his booth. “Are these seats taken?” One of them asks, gesturing to the empty spaces.

Mac looks up at him, raising his eyebrows. “Uh, no, nope, take a seat, man – men, take a seat.”

They sit down next to him, and the other guy, older and bigger with salt-and-pepper hair, smiles warmly at Mac. “So are you here with somebody?”

It’s a conversation starter, not a pick-up line, but Mac’s face flushes at the insinuation all the same. “No,” he nearly spits out, shaking his head quickly. “Well. My buddy – my roommate, uh, Dennis…Dennis is going to – he’s a drag queen. He’s, um, performing?”

“Oh, awesome! When’s she going on?”

Mac wrinkles his nose at the change of pronouns (it’s weird, he’s still getting used to it). “Uh, yeah, no idea, man. Didn’t tell me that one.” He diverts his attention back to the stage, where the Britney girl from before is _still_ going on and on.

The couple sitting with him seems to be enjoying her, though. The younger one has his arm draped across his boyfriend’s – or husband’s, who knows – shoulder, and Mac can feel his skin crawling. As far as gay guys go, he figures they’re some of the better ones he’s been around – they aren’t prancing around half-naked, for starters – but he’s still not okay with it. And for the record, he doesn’t have to be. Just because he’s sitting in a gay bar doesn’t mean he approves of the lifestyle. He won’t ever be coming back to The Rainbow, and it’s not like he knows any gay people in real life (may Country Mac’s queer ass rest in peace). Come tomorrow, Mac will have already forgotten this entire experience, and he can go back to feeling comfortable in his 100% justified beliefs. Absolutely.

Finally the god-awful performance is wrapping up, and as soon as that queen exits, another takes her place, walking in from the wings – it’s the host of the show, Mimi something. Mac recognizes her from TV; she’s the one who lifted another girl up over her head during a lipsync. How could he forget that? Dennis had rewinded and played it back multiple times.

Mimi stops in the middle of the stage, a handheld microphone in her hand. “Alright, next up we have a newcomer in the house, yes!” She pauses, giving the audience a moment to cheer and holler. “Tonight is her first performance, and she looks absolutely sickening, so _fuck_ this bitch – give it up for Electra Golden!”

The lights go down, Mimi scurries offstage, and the booming drumbeats of an uptempo song begin. It’s too loud for Mac’s liking, so he takes a sip of his drink to calm his nerves. He’s getting impatient waiting for Dennis to perform, pissed that he doesn’t know when his roommate will go on, and annoyed that he can’t leave until he does.

The song is banging on and on, and yet the stage is still empty. Mac is about to lean over to the couple sitting next to him and ask them what the _fuck_ is going on – like, is this protocol? – when she finally steps out, stomping across the stage like she owns it. 

_Thick thighs, thick thighs, thick thighs, thick thighs, thick thighs, thick thighs, thick thighs, thick thighs…_

First of all, she’s fucking gorgeous. She’s dressed in a black long-sleeved bodysuit and nothing else, the lace-up neckline exposing a convincing illusion of cleavage. Her legs are impossibly long, shiny and bare and ending in a pair of tall black heels. Somehow – Mac’s trying not to focus on the how – she has an amazing ass, which she shakes side-to-side to the beat of the song. Her glossy pink lips catch the light as she lipsyncs, running a manicured hand through her wavy blonde hair ( _wig_ , actually, but Mac would swear on the Bible that it’s growing straight out of her head).

If Mac’s dick was capable of independent thought, it would be confused right now. Mac’s dick definitely _isn’t_ capable of independent thought, and it’s still very confused right now. 

He can’t take his eyes off of her, and apparently, neither can anyone else. Newcomer be damned – tons of tiny twinks are flocking to the stage, waving bills in the air for her to collect. She’s more focused on the performance though, squatting down and sticking her ass out, only taking tips as an afterthought. _Do your lunges, do them squats, so you can keep on eatin’ them tater tots._

He can’t take his eyes off of her, and she knows it. Electra Golden looks straight at Mac, straight through to his soul, and she smirks, knowing she’s got him hook, line, and sinker. _Mmm, mmm good, like Campbell’s canned it_ , she mouths along with the song, seductively snaking a hand down to her crotch.

He can’t take his eyes off of her – more specifically, her eyes, which are a striking, familiar shade of blue, or her face, angular and sharp underneath all that makeup, or her thighs, which have popped up in his dreams far more times than he’d like to admit, and Mac suddenly realizes that the semi he has right now is for his best friend. The song continues – _Chub rub ain’t wrong if you’re doin’ it right, start a fire in your pants that’ll burn all night_ – but this time it’s Dennis who lip-syncs the words meant for Mac.

Mac is knocked out of his trance by an elbow to the rib, courtesy of the older guy sitting directly beside him. “She’s got her eye on you, kid!” It’s paired with a wink, a grin, an understanding that he knows what’s going on.

“That’s – that’s my buddy Dennis,” Mac tries to respond, but his words are swallowed up by the music, which is now reiterating the fact that _thick thighs make a dick rise_. The situation in his pants isn’t doing much to refute that, but he’s squeezing his own thighs together all the same. 

His tablemates, not having heard him, apparently, are scooting out of the booth, walking towards the stage, and Mac finds himself following them blindly, not sure of what he’s doing in the slightest. He’s being pushed by a crowd of sweaty men – none of whom are beefcakes, mind you – towards the front, where Dennis, or Electra, or whomever, is commanding the attention of every last soul in the bar. 

Mac reaches down into his pocket, rummaging around in his wallet, and of course by the time he’s fished out a dollar, Dennis is on the other end of the stage, wiggling his hips and basking in the attention like he’s been doing this for years. (For all Mac knows, he could’ve been doing this for years.)

Dennis catches his eye from across the stage and grins, and it’s a wonder that Mac didn’t recognize him from the start. He walks back over with a swagger in his step and pops a squat right in front of Mac.

Mac holds the bill up, hand shaking. Dennis grabs hold of it but lingers, wrapping his fingers around Mac’s, continuing to lipsync but refusing to break eye contact. _Hamstrings got the dick tryna stand up right, I’mma need two hands, lemme drop the mic._ All of a sudden, Dennis rips the bill out of his hand, gets up, and walks away to tease some other poor sucker. Mac feels six feet under. 

It’s too much and it’s not enough all at once, and Mac is left to stand dumbly by the stage, no longer there for any particular reason. Dennis’ performance isn’t over yet, not by a long shot, but suddenly Mac is having trouble breathing; the sweaty bodies seem to be getting closer and closer by the second, and if he doesn’t get out of here immediately he’s pretty sure he’s gonna die. (How picturesque – Mac dying _here_ of all places, his body going limp on the floor of a gay club. That’d be the ultimate sin, he thinks.)

Mac pushes his way out of the crowd, past all of Dennis’ adoring fans whose feet are apparently nailed to the floor, searching for some kind of exit, any kind. He spots the bathroom, tucked away in the corner and marked by a neon sign that says “MEN,” and makes a beeline for it.

Nearly all of the stalls are full, some with more than one occupant, but Mac doesn’t need to go anyway, just needs to calm the fuck down as soon as possible. He heads for a sink and runs his hands under the cold water, slapping them on his cheeks several times. This place must have thin walls or something, because he can still hear that song, still hear them all going crazy for Dennis out there. He grips the sink until his knuckles turn white. 

God, why couldn’t he have been ugly? Why couldn’t he have gone out there and failed and bombed and gagged and failed and bombed? Of _course_ Dennis had to look the best, had to look as close to a real woman as possible, had to lipsync to a song about dicks and boners and thighs. Goddamn him – literally, God fucking damn him. If Dennis isn’t already going hell for all of the fucked up shit he’s pulled off in the past, Mac is certain that his little stunt tonight will earn him a one-way ticket to eternal damnation.

Mac can’t even look at himself, doesn’t have it in him to make eye contact with the man in the dirty mirror. Instead he stares at the door, wondering why he keeps expecting Dennis to come bursting in after him.

\--

There’s too much glitter and too many men making out with each other for Mac to stay inside the club, so he fucks off to the alleyway, sitting down next to the dumpster with his head in his hands. This was such a bad idea. He tries to tell himself that he shouldn’t have let Dennis talk him into it, but in reality, he didn’t need any convincing. All it took was one “please” and Dennis’ hand on his shoulder to get him to say “alright.” Jesus Christ, he needs to grow a backbone. He’ll start tomorrow. 

Mac doesn’t know what time it is, but he knows that by the time Dennis stumbles out of the back door, he’s been out here for hours. Dennis has clearly had a few drinks, giggling with a group of other queens as if they’ve been friends for years. He’s still all dragged up, and somehow, his makeup looks just as good as it did during his performance.

His smile falters when he spots Mac by the dumpster. “Mac? What the hell are you doing out here, man?”

Mac bites his bottom lip. He’s not so much avoiding Dennis’ eyes as he is those of the queens he’s with, a sad game of _if I can’t see you, you can’t see me_. “Nothin’, dude,” he says to his shoes. “Just been waiting for you.”

“Okay, well…” Dennis smiles at the other queens, stepping away. “I gotta go, uh – this is my friend Mac.”

“Nice to meet you, Mac,” one of them says sweetly, but it’s a man’s voice coming from a woman’s likeness, and it’s directed at _him_ , and he’s turning red. 

Dennis mumbles a, “Bye guys,” and by the clicking of heels on the pavement, Mac knows Dennis is headed his way.

“You wanna go home, man?” Dennis offers a hand, having to crouch down a bit due to the added height from his shoes.

Mac sighs, taking Dennis’ hand and pulling himself to his feet. “Uh, yeah, I’ve been wanting to go home for the last three fuckin’ hours.” (It’s a rough estimate.)

There’s a palpable silence in the humid air between them as they start to walk home, as Dennis certainly isn’t one to apologize. Mac can’t hide in a bathroom forever, foolishly ignoring the reality of Dennis’ appearance, but now that it’s just the two of them, it’s easier for him to breathe. Underneath all that makeup, he knows it’s still Dennis.

“Little piece of advice, dude,” Mac ventures, “don’t wear blonde next time, ‘cause it makes you look like Dee.”

Dennis snorts. “No, I don’t have her birdlike features. I mean, I look great, right?”

“You look like a whore.”

Dennis purses his lips, cocking his head to the side as if weighing his options. “You know, that’s not always a bad thing in this business.” 

“So, how, uh…how did you get–”

“Oh, the body?” Dennis rubs a hand all over his backside. “It’s all foam.” Noticing the look of confusion of Mac’s face, he adds, “Shaped to perfection, of course. You can’t have it looking unrealistic.” 

“No, you certainly can’t,” Mac mutters, eyeing Dennis’ ass. _The_ ass. It’s not really Dennis’. It’s foam, it’s not real, it’s okay to look at. But goddamn, does it look like a real woman’s body. That’s why he can’t stop staring at it.

“I shaved all of my body hair off, too,” Dennis adds. He’s way too comfortable talking about himself, which is fine, because Mac is way too comfortable listening. 

“ _All_ of it?” 

“Yeah, all of it. Legs, arms, arm _pits_ , chest; you name it, it’s hairless.” Mac’s jaw drops open in spite of himself. “I mean, come on, how many women do you know with hairy chests?” 

Mac thinks for a moment, before admitting, “Well, my mom, actually…”

Dennis rolls his eyes. “My point is, I have to look as much like the real thing as possible. You know? Fish and all that.” Mac remembers from TV that “fish” is the term queens use when they’re looking as though they could pass as a “real” woman, the word referring to the smell of…well. 

“Yeah,” Mac nods, swallowing hard. “You do.”

\-- 

Before the front door of their apartment is even closed behind them, Dennis is already lifting his wig off and setting it down on top of a weird styrofoam head on the counter Mac hadn’t noticed before. At the sight of this, Mac feels his heart sink. _No, keep it on,_ he wants to plead. Dennis is ruining the illusion right before his eyes, un-blurring the lines, fucking up the vision. It’s getting harder for Mac to ignore.

Mac locks the front door but doesn’t turn around, just stands there staring at the knob. It’s the perfect time to blurt out, “So what’d you do with your dick?” He’d been thinking it all night, ever since Dennis first came out on stage. There’s no visible bulge between Dennis’ legs, of course; he had to make it look like a pussy. Mac just can’t quite figure out how. 

“Oh, well…” Mac can hear the smile in Dennis’ voice. “Just kinda mashed it up there, to be honest. I’m wearing, like, five pairs of pantyhose right now, dude, I can’t wait to get ‘em off.”

“You didn’t – you didn’t tuck, or…anything like that?”

“God, no. That’s too much work. Plus that tape would’ve hurt like a bitch coming off.”

“Gotcha,” Mac says, walking over to sit down at the table. “Gotcha. It’s just – Carmen used to…only sometimes. She tucked it back sometimes. Before the surgery.” He glances up at Dennis, who’s getting undressed in the middle of their living room like it’s no big deal. The bodysuit he’d been wearing has been thrown onto the coffee table, his chest exposed, save for a black bra. The cleavage that looked so natural underneath clothing reveals itself to be just a couple of half-moons painted on with makeup. The curtain’s crumbling.

Dennis chuckles. “Well, if you think I’m getting my dick cut off and sent to China, you’re dead wrong.”

“No, no, don’t…don’t do that.” Mac starts absentmindedly patting at his thighs, drumming his fingers on them, doing anything to distract himself from the matter at hand. Hypothetically speaking, he _could_ just go to bed, but he’s not all that tired, so he’d probably just spend twenty minutes jerking himself off to no avail before going to sleep annoyed. Plus, Dennis might want to watch a movie or something on TV. It wouldn’t be a good idea to close himself off to opportunities like that.

Dennis is peeling off layer after layer of pantyhose, tossing them down into a pile on the floor. It’s kind of taking an inordinate amount of time, but Mac figures that could be chalked up to the sheer number of pairs he’s wearing. It’s only when he kicks off the last pair and bends over to pick up the mess he’s made that Mac’s blood runs cold.

He’s fucking wearing the Paddy’s thong. Among other things, of course, like the black bra, which is stuffed to at least a C-cup, and whole lot of makeup, but that’s all stuff that Mac was previously aware of. This, however, is a completely new development. A whole different ballgame.

Mac must have been staring, because it’s not two seconds later that Dennis asks him, “Dude, uh…what’s up?” He’s standing there holding all his shit – the bodysuit, the pantyhose, the foam pads, the heels – with a curious look on his face. 

“Hmm?”

“Take a picture, maybe it’ll last longer.”

“Uh, you wanna put some clothes on first?” Mac laughs nervously, and as a response, it doesn’t really make much sense, but he’s hoping that Dennis might listen to him for _once_ in their lives. (That sad date with his hand is looking more appealing by the second.)

Dennis pauses to fake thinking about it, then says, “Not really,” before heading into his room. Mac breathes a sigh of relief, but it’s in vain, because from where he’s sitting at the table, he can see into Dennis’ room, where Dennis is taking his sweet time putting away his stuff, and he’s definitely making sure to bend over more than he needs to. Dennis isn’t dumb, he knows what he’s doing.

He planned this, didn’t he? He put on that fucking thong underneath all those goddamn pairs of pantyhose with the intent of undressing in front of Mac, knowing full well that Mac wouldn’t object (although, to his own credit, he did try). Oh, Dennis knows _exactly_ what he’s doing, and it’s making Mac’s cheeks burn.

It’s also doing something to his dick, which is a lot harder to justify now that Dennis is no longer dressed as a woman. He hopes to God that Dennis doesn’t come back out anytime soon.

Apparently, however, God’s screening his calls tonight, because almost immediately, Dennis comes sauntering back out, a pack of makeup wipes in one hand and a handheld mirror in the other. There’s obviously no better place for him to do this than the bathroom, but it’s clear that at this point, his careful planning has been replaced with good old-fashioned fucking with Mac.

He glances over at Mac before going to take a seat on the couch, but stops in his tracks to do a double take on his way there. “Wait,” he says, squinting. 

“…What?” 

“Come here.”

Mac snorts. “Uh, no.” For one, he’s not just going to let Dennis tell him what to do, and second of all, getting up would make his boner a little bit more obvious, which is not something he wants right now. Or at all, for that matter.

But then Dennis says, “Get up, Mac,” so calmly, no edge to his tone at all, that Mac can’t help but rise from the chair and walk towards his roommate. He imagines that from an outsider’s perspective, this must be a pretty strange sight – him with a hard-on you could see from space, Dennis dressed in nothing but a bra and a thong, facing each other like they’re about to duel.

“The fuck do you want, Dennis?”

“Let me ask you a question.”

“Yeah, what?”

“Are you seriously hard right now?” Dennis asks, his voice low, but he's not mad, rather...incredulous. Victorious, even.

_Whoomp, there it is._

“You’re – you’re wearing women’s underwear!” It’s such a weak defense and Mac knows it, but he won’t falter, can’t give up now.

“Is that it?” A smile starts to tease at the corners of Dennis’ mouth, spreading across his face like a forest fire. Mac knows exactly where this conversation is headed, and he has to get there before Dennis does. 

“Okay, but check this out, dude, I’m not gay.” _I’m not gay, I’m not gay, I’m not gay._ If he repeats it enough times – especially out loud – it will eventually come true. “This doesn’t have anything to do with you.” 

“Oh, it doesn’t? The visual stimulation isn’t quite doing it for you?” 

“No,” Mac lies. “Not at all.” 

Dennis takes a step closer to him. Mac doesn’t want to look into his eyes, so he looks elsewhere – above his eyes, where he’s practically erased his eyebrows and drawn on completely new ones, at his nose, which he’s whittled down to perfection, and at his lips, which look even more pillowy than usual now that they’re slathered in lip gloss. Anywhere but his fucking eyes.

“Not at all, huh?” 

Mac should shove Dennis away and tell him to fuck off, to mind his own business. Mac should storm off to his bedroom and slam the door behind him and give Dennis the silent treatment for a good few days. Mac should go out to a bar – a real bar, a goddamn straight bar – and pick up a woman and bring her home, fucking her so hard and so loud that Dennis tosses and turns all night.

But Mac does none of the above. Mac thinks, _fuck it all_ , and dives in to meet Dennis’ lips. He’s not afraid of being rejected, because he’s pretty damn sure that every single move Dennis has made tonight has been leading up to this exact moment. His best friend tastes like strawberries and tequila and triumph.

Dennis kisses back with vigor, smirking into it. “Yeah, that’s it,” he murmurs, his hands trailing up Mac’s neck. He closes what little space is left between them, rubbing his own hardening cock up against the erection in Mac’s jeans. 

Kissing Dennis is like an engine revving up; it’s frenzied and frantic and keeps building and building, and then suddenly it’ll slow to a deadly pace, so agonizingly drawn-out Mac is sure he’ll burst into flames. When he bites Dennis’ bottom lip, tugging on it ever so slightly, Dennis lets out the tiniest moan, and Mac almost comes right then and there.

“I think,” Dennis says, while Mac makes his way down his jaw, “something needs to be done about this,” which he punctuates with a hand on Mac’s dick. Mac doesn’t say a word in response, only nods, too desperate for Dennis to pull him apart and rake his hands through the ruin. In the blink of an eye, Dennis is pushing Mac down onto the couch, and Dennis is straddling Mac’s lap, and Dennis is reaching up under Mac’s shirt to pull it off of him.

Now that he’s sitting down, Mac is finally able to take a second to process the situation, resting his head on the back of the couch. This is real. This is actually happening. Dennis really is peppering kisses all over his freckled shoulder, leaving traces of pink the whole way down. It isn’t a dream, and it isn’t a nightmare either. They’re making out like horny teenagers on the couch they’ve shared for over a decade, sweaty and eager and passionate; in some way, there’s no way this wasn’t going to happen.

“Hey, no offense, dude,” Mac says, breathing hard, “but you don’t gotta, uh – I mean, all the fanfare, it’s really not necessary.” He appreciates the slow burn of it all, but it’s getting to the point where he needs to get off and he needs to get off _now._

He can feel Dennis smirk against his throat, breath hot on his Adam’s apple when he replies, “Christ, it’s like you don’t even know me.” He brings his head back up to kiss Mac on the lips again, and this time it’s sloppy and wet and somehow so dirty even though it’s just a kiss and, yeah, Mac thinks he can wait just a little bit longer.

“Don’t worry,” Dennis says into his mouth, and again, “don’t worry,” like a mantra, like a prayer, “don’t worry.”

He’s moving down between Mac’s legs now, unzipping his pants and pulling them down. Mac obliges, lifting up his ass to make it easier. Once they’re all the way off, tossed aside like an afterthought, Dennis goes straight for Mac’s thighs, running his hands all over them, kissing them hard as if they’ll kiss him back.

“Is this what you meant by that song?”

“Hmm?” Dennis looks up at him, but doesn’t put on the brakes for one second; he snakes a hand up to the waistband of Mac’s boxers, ghosting over his dick, and Mac nearly bites his bottom lip clean off.

“The song tonight, you know – _fuck_ ,” Dennis is touching him through his boxers now, feather-light and achingly slow, “‘thick thighs make a dick rise’?” 

“Oh,” Dennis snickers, yanking down Mac’s boxers so quickly that Mac almost yelps, his erection now out in the glorious open. “Yeah, that,” he says, and Mac expects him to continue, but instead he starts biting and sucking at the inside of Mac’s thigh, which will definitely leave a mark. It’s been a long time since Mac’s had a hickey anywhere on his body, the pain unfamiliar after all these years, but with the view he’s got right now, he’s not really in a position to complain. 

“I’m not the only one here with great thighs, Mac,” Dennis finally answers, low and sweet against his thighs. He’s so close to Mac’s dick, his hair brushing up against it, so fucking close Mac might scream.

If this were an alternate universe, if he were somebody else, he’d thank Dennis (because, technically, that was a compliment), but instead he flips the script, taking it one step further. “Are you ever gonna get me off, you fucking tease? Cause I’m–”

Before he’s able to finish his sentence, Dennis’ hand is on his dick, and so is Dennis’ tongue, working in tandem to get Mac hot and wet and shaking underneath him. Mac’s hips thrust up reflexively in response, but Dennis pushes them down in one swift motion. He licks a long stripe on the underside of Mac’s cock before taking the head in his mouth, gazing up at Mac, batting his eyelashes (he’s still got the fake ones on, by the way).

It’s the thing with the eyelashes, but it’s also the way the dim lighting of their living room catches the sparkles on Dennis’ cheekbones, and he can’t fucking help it. “You look so beautiful with my dick in your mouth.” He doesn’t mean to say it; really, it just slips out on its own.

At this, Dennis sucks his cheeks in and takes all of Mac in his mouth, pausing for a moment when he gets to the base. Then he starts bobbing up and down, sucking Mac off at a steady rate, a perfect rhythm. It’s pretty clear that Mac’s little comment was just the right amount of gasoline his fire needed.

He tries again, licking his lips. “You’re doing so well, Den,” and Dennis hums with satisfaction around his dick. “Yeah, that’s so good. Fuck, dude, s’good.” Mac lets out a staggered moan, pulling at Dennis’ hair with what’s probably a little too much force. For a second there, he worries that he might be hurting him, before realizing that sort of thing would only turn Dennis on even more.

Dennis pulls off with a _pop_ , leaving only his hand on Mac’s dick, jerking him off fast and hard. “Say it again,” he commands, locking eyes with him, and for once, Mac doesn’t want to look away.

“It’s so good, Dennis. It’s so good,” he nearly sobs, and he’s not bluffing, either – it’s only a blowjob, but all things considered, every girl, every time, it’s the best one he’s ever had. (This may have something to do with the fact that none of these girls were Dennis, could never come close to Dennis in any respect, but that’s something for another day.) He can feel the warmth start to pool deep inside his belly, and, “Shit, I’m gonna – I’m about to–”

Dennis heeds his warning, dutifully quickening his pace, and when Mac comes, shuddering, he leans forward, sticking his tongue all the way out to let him spill his load down his throat. It’s hot as hell, and just makes the comedown even better for Mac. He catches his breath, steadying himself, and in a rare act of affection he can only attribute to his post-coital high, he reaches down and strokes at Dennis’ chin. 

For a moment, they’re both silent, and he wonders if he’s made a completely wrong move – as if his dick being in Dennis’ mouth not two seconds ago was peak intimacy and he’s now crossed some imaginary line that hangs in the balance between them. But he doesn’t sneer at the gesture or push Mac away; instead, he leans into it, letting Mac have his way with him. Mac decides to savor it rather than question it. 

“So when are you gonna perform again?” Mac asks casually. He figures it’s only appropriate, given the way they ended up in this situation. 

Dennis laughs, resting his head on Mac’s knee. “You know, you don’t have to wait till then to reciprocate, asshole.”

“You wish, dude.”

(He’s right, though – two days later, Mac blows Dennis in the back office at the bar while the rest of the gang is gone, and he’s not even wearing the thong this time.)

**Author's Note:**

> For the curious - [this](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cOF5fM6puKw) is the song Dennis lipsynced to (it'll be stuck in your head for days, just a warning), and here's the [bodysuit](http://www.hm.com/us/product/30497?article=30497-B&cm_vc=SEARCH#article=30497-A) and [wig](http://wigsbyvanity.com/collections/tora/products/tora-honey-child) he was wearing.


End file.
